Monday, June 11, 2007

The Good that won't come out of me...

Happy: experiencing pleasure, satisfaction, or delight

Near Antonyms: abject, aggrieved, anguished, blue, brokenhearted, dejected, depressed, despondent, disconsolate, disheartened, downcast, downhearted, forlorn, melancholy; doleful, dolorous, lachrymose, mournful, plaintive, sorrowful, sorry, woeful; black, dark, desolate, dispirited, gloomy, glum, gray (also grey), grieved, heartbroken, heartsick, miserable, woebegone, wretched

Friday, June 8, 2007

Breathe

because nothing seems to do this justice:

It's far past midnight, one o'clock, two o'clock, or three. The house seems to rumble as it settles, warmed wood pushing against one another, the cold tiles shrinking away from one another.

She lays there flat on the bed int eh darkness. She begins to concentrate lower, because it's easier. Her feet, then her calves, her knees and her thighs, her hips. This is where the difficulty begins. She focuses on relaxing her fingers, the very tips of them and then upwards. her elbows and shoulders. She stops there because relaxation stops at that point.

She imagines his hands in places she doesn't want them. She imagines the doctor's office and cold that makes her shiver so hard she cramps. She imagines the silence. She imagines the loneliness. As she conjures up each individual image her chest presses in tighter and tighter.

"breathe. Breathe" she tells herself. She thinks of all the recent fights and all of the debt accumulating. She thinks of stamps and responsibilities. She imagines it at all at once. She holds it in herself and feels the pressure gathering inside of her. She holds it all at once and all together. She closes her eyes and lets it go.

With each breath she imagines them leaving. Breathe. his hands. breathe. the cold. breathe. the secrets. breathe. the anger. the anger. breathe. the anger. breathe. breathe. breathe.

As everything released rushes to be allowed back within her she feels the emptiness inside of her. The black that fills her.

"Something nice" she thinks to herself to fill the space. And in the depth of her fingers and toes and now her hollow chest she searches for something to console her. A thought or hope or image to warm her and keep the fears at bay. "something nice. something nice" It sounds trite but those are the words.

And as she searches and thinks and digs and explores. Her eyes finally fall.

She sleeps. empty and alone.

There was nothing nice to hold her.